A bellhop opened the door to the Sofitel Legend Casco Viejo, and I was transported out of Panama City's humidity and into a chilly hotel lobby brimming with excitement.
15.05.2024 - 11:29 / theguardian.com
When I was planning a recent journey back to Riga, its food filled my thoughts more than anything else. I kept picturing the Latvian capital’s cafes, bistros and moody beer bars. Such longing was evidence, to me at least, that I was coming back to a city that knows how to feed people and with memorable flavours: smoked sprats, black pudding sausages, quince lemonade, cloudberry jam, pickled garlic, herby butters and bitter balsams tasting of liquorice.
As anticipation began to build, a question crossed my mind: why are some countries revered for their food while others are not? The cuisine of the Baltics, rich with variety and imagination, can often rival that of the nearby Nordic countries yet it is rarely held in the same esteem.
I first visited the Baltic trio of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania, in early 2020, just before the world shut down with the pandemic. Though some of the restaurants I discovered then haven’t survived, I remember the dishes and flavours as vividly as the smell of pine forests and the sight of the last of the winter’s snow glittering on sand and driftwood.
In Pärnu, Estonia, I ate snow-white fillets of pikeperch caught in Pärnu Bay, baked with butter and capers in the city’s restaurants (my favourite spot, Mahedik, has closed but I hear good things about Hea Maa). In Palanga, Lithuania, I ate halibut with sunflower seeds and fennel, and steak with cedar nuts and honey at the great Restoranas 4 (also sadly closed) where chefs showcased what local people have been good at for centuries – pickling, fishing, fermenting, foraging and berry collecting.
The sea buckthorn cheesecake I ate in the Latvian port city of Liepāja at Boulangerie Liepāja (still open!) was a revelation: whole berries set in jelly on top, their sharpness slicing through the full-fat cream cheese.
But it is at the markets that you best get a sense of Baltic flavours and traditions, and one of the best is Riga Central Market, which showcases the Baltic’s natural larder.
Inside one of the markets’ five giant hangars, built during the first world war, I passed richly stocked lanes of gilded-looking fish: Riga’s famous sprats in tins and jars. There were other fish with fantastic names that I knew little about: bitterling, tench, butterfish, garfish, pipefish, lumpfish. In repurposed tubs, scaly and strong-smelling dried fish sat upright and rigid, their silvery-brown heads poking above the plastic. Another stall showcased white honey brandy that had been fermented in copper pots and “filtered through forest moss”.
The pages of my notebook began to fill up with words that reflected the landscape: Baltic shrimp, lingonberry jam, Baltic herring, birch syrup, fermented kvass, wild cherry leaves, crayfish, fruit
A bellhop opened the door to the Sofitel Legend Casco Viejo, and I was transported out of Panama City's humidity and into a chilly hotel lobby brimming with excitement.
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This is part of a collection of stories celebrating lesbian bars across the US and other parts of the world. Read more here.
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